“Does anyone else think it’s weird that…

Both Gurinder and Bennet Jr got hurt in exactly the right ways to be placed directly into the captain’s new drone program immediately after getting seriously injured?” Drawls the very drunk interim supply clerk and dock worker Norman Chan a little too loudly. His friends at the hip high bar table all look at Norm sideways over their drinks. “Not this again!” The chorus goes up from the group around Norm. “Come on man, we leave port tomorrow afternoon, let’s just get drunk, fuck and forget about shit for a few hours, man! Just let it go. People are starting to stare.” Slurs a particularly drunk Bennet Sr. His hair a messy tussle of greasy grey. “He’s my son – right? Right. So, so… I’m just glad they had the spinal column haptics that gives him full mobility again ok. That container mishap crushed a good portion of his back. He could, he, he could have died man. Be happy he isn’t dead!” Shouts Bennet Sr over the din of the music blaring in the crowded bar. “I know, I know!” Norm waves his hands, palms out. “It just seems suspicious is all I’m saying.” Norm takes another long pull from his mixed drink. Bennet Sr leans over to rest on his shoulder and says. “Oh hey, that smells good, what is that Norman?” He slurs cheerily, his momentary lapse of melancholy driven away by drink. “Sex on the beach.” Norm says. “What!?!” Shouts back Bennet Sr. “I said Sex on The Beach!” Norman bellows, just as the music goes quiet waiting for the beat to drop. A huge portion of the crowd turns to look at the now flushed and thoroughly embarrassed Norman. The beat comes crashing back in and the crowd cheers! “YEAH!” Norman turns away from his group of friends and winds his way through the packed dance floor of the bar, away from the bar top he was using to steady himself between drinks. Working his way back towards the men’s room at the farthest reaches of the narrow room. The long interior wall is one long bar with mirrors behind it making you feel like the space was wider than it was, in the middle were lengths of bar top between pillars and a few free standing tables, mostly faux wood finishes dominated the bar. Then a walk way, and several day bed like couches under the floor to ceiling cement glass windows that looked out into space. But now caught the glinting sight of the Mars Six Sub-Orbital Aerial Base where the Jolene Roger was docked for Resupply before shipping out to Pluto for an offensive against the Insurgency, and their black ops base stationed at UB313. Passing by the hot and sweaty crowd Norman fails to notice as a few heads turn to follow him as he walks through the crowd. The three men in a triangle formation watch as Norman walks between them and on to the toilets at the back of the room. The smallest of the three watchers types quickly on his wrist communicator without looking down at it. He is smiling and being social with a few women at his slab of the bar. Within moments the three gentleman get a return notification, and slowly they peel away from their gatherings and walk nonchalantly to the men’s room.

Norman passes the last part of the bar and reaches up to grasp the pillar just out away from the wall before nearly falling over a drunk woman legs. How he missed the bright pink tutu is anybody’s guess. Leaning down, gingerly he asks if the young woman needs any help regaining her feet. Instead she pulls him head first by his collar into the space where the pillar meets the floor and he blacks out. Crawling onto Norman’s body she begins to writhe around and shriek incoherently. The gathered crowd turns their backs in an attempt to ignore the weird behavior. With the crew on edge with war looming nobody is willing to get in the middle of anyone’s business tonight. A brief moment later and three men bolt into the bathroom locking the doors behind them. Their shouts, and the sounds of gun shots are muffled by the music and the heavy doors. From the floor the woman rolls of Norman, and fireman carries him out of the club. No one gives them a second look.

Several paces outside the bar the woman sets Norman’s unconscious body against the wall to slump into a crumple of limbs. She removes her dark wig to reveal her bright green, close cropped hair. Ditching her ruffled tutu, and knee high boots and stockings to unfurl her brown jumpsuit that was tied off at the waist and appear like an on duty custodial staff member. She pulls a cleaning cart out of a hidden compartment in the hallway wall and pushes Norman’s body into the over-sized garbage bin. She proceeds to take him down into the sanitation decks well below.

Part Thirty Three : Ghost of the Dirty Starling.

Auditory hallucinations and why I can guess when my phone will ping with a notification.

Also included are phantom buzzing from my leg pocket, feeling as though I have wet knee caps, and a physical tick on the soles of my heels that fluctuate randomly between themselves – repeatedly. Though I can miss a phone call quite easily, I do always have a sense regarding notifications and emails, for one reason or another. Strange. Very strange sensation.

So how if your Tuesday going? We have officially broken into Spring, so either heavy rains, sub zero temperatures or snow are on the horizon for us to enjoy. Rain can wait until April, but I’d rather not do the whole shovel, live with, and then the slushy melting sequence of snow either. We can handle bursts of cool to cold wind, but let’s keep the precipitation to a minimum for right now ok? Ok!

That time shift huh? Ugh. Hate it. But I will say this, having a later sunset is rather pleasant. Makes the kids not want to go to bed, but after nine days off with March Break, they could do with having a schedule, and heavy physical activity running around with their friends. The spring break really let us ignore the time change for the better part of a week, but it came calling in full effect on Monday, believe you me. It didn’t seem to bother the kids much though, which is a nice touch.

Yesterday flew by! Maybe that was just my experience of the first monday back after the break, but holy cow! It zoomed by.

First day back after the break…

And I’m seeing an awful lot of maskless people and children. This is so not going to be a good couple of weeks. Unless a miracle happens some classes are definitely going to shut down, and people are going to get violently ill. But what do I know, I’m just a dude who has watched things open, and cases spike, and things all clamor to shut down, every sixteen weeks for the last two years or so. Same as you. An announcer at a fireworks event in town was talking about how glad he was that the pandemic is over! – over? Over, he says confidently. Oh buddy, this isn’t over, it’s ramping up to hit an all time high.

To everyone else who wore a mask when out and about today, a big thank you goes out to you.

Should potentially be a quieter week on the work front. I have two of the three large reports out the door. The last, and probably the largest or more cumbersome will come in next month, most likely. So now I can focus on the house for a change. Get to that Spring cleaning, tidying up, and possibly purge broken toys, and collected junk from the winter. I’m going to wait another few weeks before I wash, mend and store away all of our winter gear. This is southern Ontario, and could get a snow storm in mid April from out of the blue. But I love it when we get to open window weather! Birds are more active around here again too.

Maybe I’ll skip the infrastructure stuff for my garage and get right back on the screen door for the back of the house. I found some weather striping too, so I don’t have to be crazily precise about my first ever door build. Well, not exactly. I have put doors and lids on custom boxes, but never a full sized door to go on a house. Built from scratch. Have hung a few doors, repaired one or two aswell. But this is new, and kind of intimidating, if I’m being totally honest. Worst comes to worst I’ll just paint it white, if the Ash doesn’t look as nice as I have hoped once situated on the house itself.

The grass needs some work this year. I don’t see myself as the ultimate green lawn kind of guy. The kids burn patches down to the mud where they play in the same spots constantly, so I’m not willing to spend a lot of money to just have that happen to an expensive green lawn. I like that they play outside a bunch, so why introduce some aggravation to it on my end. But we have the supplies on hand to properly wash out vehicles now, and exterior windows/brick/drive way too. Should keep the kids busy on a Saturday or Sunday once the weather turns for good.

We are back to Monday, how is everyone feeling today? Are you all back onsite for work? Seems our politicians should have to be, and maskless too, if that’s what they are going to do to our public school kids. But I digress.

Can I just say, I’ve only just realized I surpassed the 40,000 word mark for new short story / creative writing material this year! (2022). That puts me over the 100,000 word milestone I was looking towards! Passed it without even realizing it too. Isn’t it amazing how some of the hardest goals we put up, can be surpassed with almost no fanfare whatsoever. Some wins feel a little hollow huh? No matter, on-wards until the story is done!

Brain my fried – yesterday,

By writing two new installments of my interconnected series, and it gave me panicked and jumbled dreams, so going to tread lightly today. To quote Homer Simpson “I hope I didn’t brain my damage.” Ha. Sure felt like it late last night, but that could have been residual funnel cake coursing through my veins after a late evening out with the kids watching fireworks in the drizzling rain and fog.

Take it easy on this lazy Sunday-Funday.

“I have some… interesting news.”

Commanding Officer Monica Gonzalez says to her captain. The captain, a stern looking woman of about fifty years of age. Her hair a closely cropped buzz cut on one side of her part, and jaw length grey bob on the other. “Do tell.” Yawns the captain from her chair in the officers lounge. “The admiral responded, well, no. Not responded. He sent us a message that came in thirty hours after we sent out ours.” Quips the CO. “Like two ships passing in the night.” Barks the captain with a slight hiccup. Her brandy sloshing around in her snifter, the ice cubes clinking with the motion. “Yes, just so. He needs us to activate the Jackal Protocol. I assume you know what that means? I looked in the hand book, and through our active duty archives but came up with nothing.” Shrugs Gonzalez. With a blank stare the captain has gone motionless, and the pink flush of the alcohol slowly gives way to an ashen green grey colour. “Did he now.” A long pregnant pause follows, as the chatter of the lounge falls in to fill the silence between them at their private table. After a few deep breaths the captain toggles her wrist communicator down to medical and cycles through some tabs and alternate screens that Gonzalez had never seen before. “Meet me in the aft cargo hold at 0:200 hours, and bring coffee, and protein bars, lots of it too.” Standing up abruptly the captain nearly runs for the door to her private office aboard the bridge. “But why ma’am” Gonzalez asks stunned. “The admiral has just lost confidence in the integrated Fire Teams and his Nanotech boosted walking Tankers. We need to get my pet project off the ground and fully operational – now!” The shout from the usually stone cold captain brings the rest of the officers in the lounge up short. Eyes wander between the captain and the CO, blank looks on their faces during the seemingly heated exchange. With a flurry the captain exits the room, and the CO heads down to the commissary to gather the required food stuffs.

“Jes-us fuck-ing Key-rist! What happened to you out there today Gurinder?” Exclaims a bed ridden man in the med bay. Gurinder, a solidly built man of about forty says “I was de-gloved, if you can fucking believe it. Don’t look that up by the way.” He snarls. “How did that happen?” The bed ridden man says. “I’m always so careful, so fucking careful. The CO even told us repeatedly how dangerous resupply can be here at Mars Six Sub-Orbital Aerial Base, and I still got frostbite during the transfer of the LOX, that I went directly to the baths afterwards in shock – apparently, to soak the bone chilling cold out of me. I got turned around in the process and tried to thaw my hands in a plasma stream, and scalded them instead. Sloughed the skin off in one bubbling mass of wet tissue. The frostbite had killed the nerves so I didn’t notice until I dropped both of my hands into the pool.” Gurinder drawls looking down at his feet in the infirmary. “Bright side is, the doctors said I could try those swanky new haptic gloves. You know the ones we all had to try on before shipping out?” Says Gurinder. “Yeah – yeah, the ones that were always too fucking tight.” Offers the bed ridden man. “Yeah, second skin, what they called it. Turns out once you lose your first skin they fit like a charm. But putting them on.” Gurinder pauses here, for a lengthy bit of awed silence. “Not uh, not fun. Leave it at that. But check it out, no seams. The Nanotech integration filled in the gaps and I can touch and feel again. Also, I might add, no nerve pain.” He grins dopishly. “Noice!” Whoops the man from his bed. “So what do they do?” Replies the man from his bed. “I’m actually en route to the testing facility in the aft of the ship. I knew the Jolene Roger had something up her skirt for us in this fight!” Bellows Gurinder. “Keep it down out there!” Shouted an orderly. “We’ve got an influx of wounded people in here.” The orderly shrieks again. “It’s the worst one day record for onsite injuries ever!” Shouted the orderly to the whole room. “What the fuck is going on here today?” A med tech barks in retort.

“You’re not going to like this Gonzalez, but drastic times calls for drastic measures. I need these haptic nerve drones manned, and I couldn’t wait for specimens, so I took some extraordinary steps.” The captain crooned in a melodic whisper. “A couple of manufactured accidents here and there, one or two key personnel have their equipment tampered with, and a few happy coincidences due to the planned misfortune of others.” The captain chuckles warmly. “Chin up. The admiral needs results, The Company needs results, and my Bison drones are going to lead the way. Don’t worry, no one suspects you of anything, and your name isn’t even associated with my patented Bison drones. Look, here come the first batch of pilots now.” Pointing down along the enormous cargo hold to the group of men and women filtering into the huge space as a clump. All in all about fifteen people, some with dark metallic hands, and others with long black snakes running the length of their spines. After a few minutes the crowd had walked the full length of the room to stand infront of the captain and CO Gonzalez. Standing in a semi circle near a grouping of med pod suspension tanks. The captain clears her throat and steps away from CO Gonzalez and addresses the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen welcome. You are looking at your new home for the foreseeable future. Over the next ten days you will be fully immersed in running your new Bison drones to get up to fighting speed. So, without further ado, find a suitable tank. Haptic gloves in the standing tanks, and spinal columns into the ones laying down please. No need to talk. You’ll understand soon enough. The subconscious training will teach you everything you need to know, and once you all pass the training, you’ll be able to watch your Bison drones from the safety of our newest war room. Quick – quick. Hop in. Time is wasting people.” The captain’s smile fades quickly as the gathered group doesn’t move. “Get in the fucking tanks before I float you all out of the cargo airlock.” She barks. There is a series of squeaks and scrapes as the gathered wounded climb half heartedly into their icy cold suspension tanks. The clunks of the safety seals locking into place echoes in the cavernous room.

Walking back to her spot near the center of the tanks, the captain hits a series of buttons and watches the group begin the first moments of their ten days of subconscious training. CO Gonzales stands at attention beside the captain, her mind racing, her stomach doing flips.

Part Thirty Two: Ghost of the Dirty Starling.

“Did you pass along the request to Admiral Garneau?”

Asks the formally dressed captain of the Jolene Roger without looking up from her computer screen. Tapping away quickly, the clicking a loud steady beat in the silence of the stately ready room just off of the bridge. “Yes – ma’am. I put in our request to stop off at the Mars Six Sub-Orbital Aerial Base for resupply, and to pick up a few new crew members. It was flagged to your attention as an Omega level code Orange personnel transfer for one person in particular. A Ghost crew member, not sure of the name though, as it wasn’t listed in the memo.” Responds the commanding officer firmly. “Yeah – I saw that too. Strange timing. But then again, none of us are privy to the admirals thinking on the matter of war, or the timing of it being advantageous for all parties concerned. We were scheduled to resupply smack dab in the middle of this scrum, so I felt pushing that ahead, and only being six days late for the flotilla rendezvous was acceptable, to me at least. By the time Admiral Garneau signs off on it, and responds we’ll be away from port, and enroute.” A shuffling of papers and the click of a pen. The soft whir of the air scrubbers can be heard purring quietly in the sound proofed office. The captain leans back in her chair to look at her CO. “The Ghost Crew is most unexpected. I didn’t realize we rated one, being the smallest of the vessels heading to battle.” Quips the stern featured captain. “You are correct ma’am, we don’t rate one. He’s to be taken over to the Righteous Chord or any other massive Erlon class battle ship in the fleet. We can’t keep him, I’m afraid.” Answers the CO somberly. “Be that as it may, we can still use – him? Was it. Yes. Nameless as far as I’m concerned. Feed him, get him settled, and then run him through our highest priority matters before we get into position with the rest of the fleet. We’ve got the next nine weeks before we make ‘landfall’ at UB313, so make the best of it please. I trust you and engineering can put together a comprehensive list of tasks he can accomplish given the time crunch, and the impending battle. Lord knows what that fucking doctor has planned. I shudder to think about it.” The captain grimaces, and a slight shiver makes her quiver in her seat. With a flush of goose flesh herself the CO says. “Ugh! Right? If you’re done with those forms I can take them down with me to HR, on my way by the engineering decks.” Says the CO. “Did you perchance pass a rather fat fellow on the way in here? If you see him, send him in.” The captain extends her arm out with some papers clutched in her left hand to the CO. “Yes, I did in fact see him. I think the quat sanitizer we use in the air is giving him grief, as he looked terrible. Common trait among those not used to long haul vessel life. He must be a grounder from Earth proper or Mars.” With a look of disgust the captain says. “Thanks, I’ll take the note under advisement. No hand shakes, and I’ll keep my distance. As you were Austenmire.” Smirks the captain. “Don’t do that ma’am, my older sister is CO Austenmire. I prefer Gonzalez, after my mother – ma’am”. With a chuckle the captain rights her clothes before sitting down again. “Yes – right. Gonzalez then. By my leave.” With a soft ping the doors to the ready room whoosh open and CO Gonzalez leaves soundlessly.

“Hey Gonzalez, what’s hanging ba-bee!” Shouts a grey, hunched older man covered from head to toe in a thick inky grease. Strewn around him are the disassembled parts of a SIP hydroptic-6 jib borer. “Jesus Bennet, respect the rank, you silly toothless old fuck!” She barks tapping the stripes on her shoulder, and then the prominent emblems on her collar. “Yeah – yeah, baby doll. Once you get me some help round here, I’ll show you the respect you deserve.” He rasps like a heavy smoker, with half his throat a cancerous sore. “As a matter of fact, we’ll have a Ghost Crew member for nine weeks, so I need a prioritized list of doable jobs in my inbox asafp!” Gonzalez shouts over the din of the machinery running beside the old man Bennet. The old borer making a hell of a racket in the background. “Sounds like you have a serious chatter issue with that line borer Bennet. You might need a bigger collar, or thicker tooling.” He shouts back. “That’s my girl!” The toothless grin spreads even wider on the dirty old man’s face.

Walking further through the small engineering decks Gonzalez stops to talk with a few other high ranking engineers and technicians, trying to get a sense of how much work they can safely cram into the nine weeks they have with the Ghost before reaching the rendezvous point in system. Likely less time than that, as they have to let him transfer to another vessel prior to reaching battle stations, and active combat duty. Taking her time to make some small talk, and get an inside tack on the largest of the priority projects, she stands idle, and watches the machine shop in full swing. “What’s Bennet’s deal, you don’t look short staffed here?” She enquired to a man of modest size lounging on a bench munching on a sandwich. With a slightly puzzled look the man swallows hard, with an audible gulp. “Wars coming, the old bastard just wants everything 100%, so no body dies cause he missed something that could be of consequence.” He burps mid sentence, then stops himself, realizing he’s talking to the ships CO. “Ma’am!” He stammers suddenly. “Aren’t we all.” She says quietly, more to herself than to the man. His foot slips from his perch on the desk and he sits up straighter. “Gonzalez, ma’am, I’m being buzzed. Someone in HR, is looking for you, ma’am.” He squirms awkwardly under her glare. “If they ping you again tell them I’m on my way presently.” With a last glance around the shop she marches off to the large environmental doors, and walks the ships main artery to find a lift back up to the HR decks nearer the bridge.

The yellow walls in the hall are a stark contrast to the dull matte greys of the rest of the Jolene Roger. “Commanding Officer! Gonzalez!” Shouts a petite woman dressed in a matching yellow jumpsuit. “I thought you’d get here about an hour ago, but I’m now late for my next stop. Walk with me if you would be so kind.” Shrieks the petite woman down the wide yellow hall. “As you well know we have a VIP crew member to deliver to the admiral. I am most excited! Follow me, we’ll take the Express elevators over to the receiving decks to grab him.” She hardly stops talking long enough to draw a breath before she starts in on all the details, gossip and news about the new crew coming aboard. The pressure change in the ears can be felt as the elevator rockets around the ship in a convoluted manner, avoiding major portions of infrastructure inside the guts of the vessel. After several tense seconds as their weight, and gravity swapped positions relative to how they boarded the lift, they came to rest at a wide open floor, with stacks of crates, luggage, and fresh food stuffs in waxed boxes. Standing alone in the center of the room is a man in a beige jumpsuit, with tools and harness glinting in the harsh light of the scanners and sensors that litter the room. “Here he is!” The little woman squeals excitedly. Running off ahead out of the lift towards the man. Gonzalez watches in disbelief as the petite woman runs ahead leaving her standing alone in the lift. Walking over to the two the CO extends a crisp salute, and offers her hand in welcoming. “Welcome aboard Ghost.” She says stiffly. “Oh don’t be silly, let me introduce you!” She vibrates in her excitement. “No need for the fuss.” The man in beige says. “Ma’am.” He salutes back with a rigorous audible snap to his elbow, palm and fingers. “I’m Mark Garneau, at your service.” He bows extravagantly.

Part Thirty One: Ghost of the Dirty Starling.

Day 95!

I realize as I write this that we are NOT 95 days into the new year (2022). As I started the writing streak early on in the winter break as I was getting antsy with how few posts I had made in 2021, compared to 2020. And I thought I could goose the numbers with a slew of posts late in the year. A real procrastinators move. Not that I thought I could publish a years worth of content, stories and nonsense in two weeks, but I gave it the old college try anyway. And then I just kept on going. At first I was thinking that if I hit a twenty one day streak, I’d be happy, then it was fifty days, then seventy five, and now that I’m close to one hundred, I think I’ll keep going regardless. I like the habit of taking a break in the day, or morning to write a quick post. Sometimes funny, sometimes absurd, and sometimes I will touch off on a rant, or explore my options on the creative writing front. I enjoy it. Getting the short daily post out tends to prime my brain for more complex thinking, and I can hone in on a new chapter. I am sure the streak will end on an innocuous note, as I just forget to post on a busy day, and go back to day one. I’ll either be kicking myself, or I will not give a shit. 50/50 it goes either way. In the meantime, I’m a few days from hitting one hundred. This is the best year my blog has ever had for views, eyeballs and traffic in general. I tried to turn off ads, but I have to upgrade beyond my current upgrade for the option, and I’m not interested in more money leaving my account. But you with the Ad Blockers, you do you. I don’t care. In the near decade I’ve run this site I’ve made 5 cents off of ads, so it’s not exactly taking food out of my kids mouths, so – yeah.

On the story front – What have we learned so far? The Company has seemingly cured 4000 troops via a Nanotech software upgrade. UB313 and the evil Doctor have several weapons and hidden tricks ready and waiting for the approaching company fleet. The somewhat Alien ship ‘K’, and its ambulatory spokesperson Katayna have come out of their data processing hang up, but can’t view their sensor data logs in chronological order. Have found several items of note, some are random, others are just plain strange like the discovery of plans and out going messages regarding a trans-dimensional For E’s engine. Racquelle is alive and well, though she ate desiccated human remains she found, unknowingly, and was not aware a war had started between her evil doctor boss and The Company as a whole. Learning out of the blue that a flotilla of large ships were a few weeks away from Pluto/Charon’s orbit, with vengeance on their minds.

So all out war is coming, and things are looking perilous for all involved. Stay tuned and follow along, as we finish the last chunk of Ghost of the Dirty Starling.

You talk a lot of shit for a guy who still has both of his ears.

The final friday of March break is here, which means that yesterday was St. Patrick’s day, and I forgot to have even a single alcoholic beverage in celebration. But what I did do was spend enough time outside that I gave myself a bit of a sunburn in all that warm sunshine as the temperatures climbed up beyond 18 degrees Celsius. I did wear a hat though, so small victory for my head, if not my exposed pale day walker skin. Today is my eldest nephews sixteenth birthday, so Happy Canal Bypass Day spud. He was a tent ripper, a drywall smasher, a guardrail buster, a C- Section baby. If I recall. Any exit but the clearly marked door type, if you catch my drift.

Had a very busy work week, which means invoices to go out and get paid, but also means I worked a lot while my kids were home and off school, and had to pass on a few fun activities with them. But, if we are saving to go to a Disney Resort in another year or two, I’ll need to earn more in order to save for the trip, and cover my usual expenses. So it’s best if I have a steady stream of work, even at inopportune times, because the end goal is a fun family experience, and spending cash to enjoy food, drinks and other activities not covered by park admission tickets.

Plus by the time we actually get to travel internationally who knows what the currency exchange rate is going to be, so saving is worth my while at this point. Since (1.) I haven’t gone anywhere in two years, (2.) we haven’t spent our travel budget on anything. (3.) the home DIY projects were all fairly inexpensive as I have a lot of my own tools, and paint, sand paper and clear coat for exterior wood isn’t break the bank expensive for a deck our size; read – tiny.

Everybody loves you when you’re 93.

It’s all sit down, don’t lift that, enjoy a toffy, don’t get up, I’ll fetch you some tea, why are you doing that, go sit down! Ah, life is pretty mellow when you reach the nineties. Scratching names off of lists, because you’ve outlived yet another person you know. Marvelling at the next big craze going around in fashion, dance and entertainment. Feeling lost in the transition between VHS, DVD, BLURAY, and now cloud media, you don’t actually own, but rent access to. A shame to have spent the last two years plus in lock down and isolation, but the current illness of our times has not been kind to your peer group. If you are lucky enough to get visitors, it’s been waves through a window, and pantomimed questions from behind doors, and shouted answers through glass. If you are one of the more technically inclined ninety year old, perhaps you did more face time this year than your whole life before it. Strange times indeed.

My John Scalzi book arrived, and my Expanse series of collected short works/novellas are arriving later today! Reading is back on the menu boys and girls! I for one am pumped.

Here’s one of the bigger trees we had to take down the other day.

Do you celebrate this, the holiest of days? It’s tree chopping day here at the ranch!

It does what it says on the tin. All hands on deck for chopping down three large problematic trees here on the grounds. They are dying, dead or dangerous to be under. Safety gear abounds. Chainsaws have had blades sharpened. Axes at the ready. Ropes and pulleys and come alongs are at hand. It’s a great day of the year. I will pray for you and your kin. Take the utmost care. Peace be with ye. And also with you.

Update: the fourth man is an hour late in getting here so much of the work has ground to a halt. A more involved breakfast was proposed, and we are following through with that course of action.

Work notification is turned on for the tree work, and the rest period required afterward. I will be back to paid work tomorrow. If my hands aren’t too tired perhaps I will tackle a new chapter today aswell. Possible. Potentially. Maybe.